


Sectum Sempra

by thegirlnamedcove



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Second Chances, Second War with Voldemort, Smut, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-17
Updated: 2016-09-01
Packaged: 2018-08-09 11:25:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,144
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7799941
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thegirlnamedcove/pseuds/thegirlnamedcove
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry's brash impatience has caused missteps over the years, but with only a few extra moments to listen and observe before acting he may change the course of the war forever. After chasing Draco into the bathroom on the second floor, the sectumsempra curse in mind, he discovers more secrets than anticipated.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Beginning in the Half Blood Prince at the end of the year. Some smut in future chapters, as it becomes plot relevant.
> 
> Also posted on ff.net, under the same title and same author name.

The bottom dropped out of Harry's stomach the second he saw Katie Bell shuffling through the Great Hall. She was still ashen and much slighter than before she had been cursed, but her jaw was locked and her eyes determined to get through her day. Somehow her resolve broke his heart even more than if she'd allowed herself to look weak. He stood from his table, not offering Ron or Hermione any goodbyes and hustled to catch up with her.

"Katie! Hey," he said, reaching for her arm.

She stopped and smiled, taking a moment to establish her footing on the uneven stone floors.

"I know you're going to ask, Harry. But I don't remember who cursed me. I've been trying, more than you know, but..." she stifled a heavy sigh, and Harry saw her shoulders sag. It was no secret that he'd been on the hunt for whoever had cursed her, whoever had poisoned Ron and Slughorn, whoever had been taking out their anger on seemingly random targets. And it was also no secret who he thought might be the culprit, the same person he always accused. That common knowledge might have been the reason Katie let her eyes drift at that moment, the mere fact that Harry publicly hated him drawing her attention. When he later turned the events over in his mind he could never be sure why she had looked, her face suddenly drained of what little color it had. But in that moment, when he followed her gaze to see Malfoy standing in the entrance to the Great Hall, the fire in his gut that was always there for Malfoy was stoked up into a rage and he knew his suspicions were correct.

Malfoy froze under his appraisal, and then turned to bolt into the hallway. Harry tore after him, shoving past other students, emerging from the Hall just in time to see Malfoy turn a corner. Then another, and then another, until Harry came to the top of a staircase to see him enter the girl's bathroom on the second floor. He slowed his pace, checking both directions to ensure no one was coming. As much as he admired the headmaster and many of the teachers, he didn't want their help or involvement. There was too great a risk of Snape intervening, protecting Malfoy from any serious questioning or suspicion. When he was sure they were alone he stepped through the bathroom doors, wand at the ready.

From the sinks to the right, he heard feet sliding against tile and a dull thud. Harry ducked his head around the wall, expecting to see Malfoy at the sinks which lead to the underground chamber. Instead he saw the boy on his knees, with his head resting against porcelain. He'd torn off his vest and thrown it to the side, and now was holding on to the edge of the sinks for dear life. Then after what felt like an eternity, he began to sob, his back and shoulders shaking so hard Harry wasn't sure they'd stay attached.

Harry couldn't make himself move from his spot, except to drop his wand to his side as he watched the villain he'd imagined all these years unraveling into a million threads. He'd had a half-thought out speech prepared, where he told Malfoy what he knew and why he was working for the Dark Lord, where he laid out in no uncertain terms what would happen to Malfoy in Azkaban. Now it seemed too small a sentiment to fill this space, an inadequate answer to what he was seeing.

Malfoy's sobs became more strangled as his throat became swollen from crying. He let his hands slip to his sides and sat back on his heels, calming a little in the silence of the room.

He couldn't let Malfoy know he was here. It was clear that he thought he was alone, had only allowed himself to crack open like this under that pretense. He turned to leave, stowing his wand in his pocket, when the potions book he'd been carrying all semester slipped from it's place and fell to the floor with a bang.

Malfoy leaped to his feet and Harry heard him scramble for his own wand.

"Who's there?" he called out.

Harry put his hands in the air, and slowly stepped out into view. No changing it now.

"I'm sorry--" he started. He wasn't sure how to finish.

"Why are you following me?" Draco spat with as much venom as he could muster, "Why did you chase me?"

"I don't...Did you curse Katie Bell?"

Malfoy's breathing sped up, but he kept his face steady. He offered no answer. Harry studied him, looking for some indication that would help him put it together.

"Did you have a choice?"

Silence passed between them, Draco still pointing his wand at Harry's chest and Harry still proffering his empty hands at Draco. Then slowly, inch by inch, Draco lowered his arm, and let his face go slack. He let out a breath and seemed to deflate, only held up it seemed by the frame of his bones. Harry realized he could see quite a few more bones in Draco's face and hands than in the past.

"What the hell would you know about it?"

"About choice?" Harry said, "Or lack of it? I know a lot more than you'll admit."

Harry's eyes traveled down to Draco's left arm. The same one Malfoy had used to intimidate the shopkeep in Borgin and Burkes that summer, the one that he was sure held a fresh Dark Mark.

"I know that after you get that brand, you never have a choice again."

Malfoy met his eye and then glanced down at his arm. His hand balled into a fist and he pulled it tightly against his chest.

"He's not a good man, Malfoy. Whatever you believe about blood or about muggles you have to know that his way isn't right."

"Of course I know that!" Draco's eyes sparked with anger, "When he humiliated my father, it wasn't the way. When he beat us, all of us, in front of the Death Eater's it wasn't the way. Everything he's ever told me to do has been wrong, but no rah-rah speech from *you* is going to save us! He'll kill me if I don't find a way to carry out my orders, and then my mother, and then my father. You don't know a damn thing about choice."

Draco's hands worked quickly, turning up both sleeves. A Dark Mark sat gravely on one, but on the other Harry saw something uglier. A scar, still thick and bright red, only barely healed enough to avoid a trip to Madame Pomfrey's.

"He made this mark over summer break," he indicated the tattoo, "and this one over Christmas break," he indicated the scar, "I hadn't even done anything wrong that time. He just decided he needed an outlet for his anger and I was near!"

Another sob caught in Malfoy's throat, and he desperately tried to swallow it down. Harry move his hands, slowly, to the front of his sweater and lifted it up to show a scar of his own running parallel across his stomach, since faded to a silvery white.

"He gave me this two years ago, in a graveyard, while trying to kill me. He's going to kill me, no matter what I do. And I would bet money that he's going to kill you even if you succeed at whatever task he's handed down. He'll kill all of us, even purebloods. Even great families. Even his closest advisors. There is no safety for any of us until he is dead."

"He can't be. He can't ever be killed."

"I know," Harry said softly, "Or at least I think I know. It's dark magic and far beyond my level. But we know the safeguards he has in place that let him keep coming back over and over again. And with a little more time, we'll know how to destroy them."

"I don't have time," Draco's voice was raspy from crying and the power was draining from it again, "If I don't.....If I'm not successful by the end of the school year it's the end for me."

Harry took a hesitant step forward, and then another. Draco wasn't looking in his direction, lost instead in the details of his shoes. It didn't take long to close the distance between them and Harry reached out to hold Draco's arm, his hand covering the red scar.

"What did he tell you to do? We've already hidden people. We can do the same for your family. What is your job?"

"He told me..." Draco lifted his eyes to meet Potter's, setting his jaw in an attempt to keep himself altogether, "He told me I have to kill Dumbledore."

 

* * *

 

 The hallways were still deserted as Harry and Draco made their way up to the seventh floor, but all the same the boys kept against the walls, checking around every corner before going on. They couldn't be seen together, not with the state they were both in, and especially not after they were seen by everyone running from the Hall. Draco didn't know what it would look like to someone on the outside, but it couldn't be good. They had been at odds since their first meeting, and everyone in the entire United Kingdom seemed to know about it. Any union between them was sure to be met with hostility. If he was honest, he was still fairly hostile to the idea himself. But the weight he'd been carying in the last two years since the Triwizard Tournament, the turn in Voldemort's favor against his family, was threatening to break him if he didn't find a way out from under it soon.

He flagged Harry down, breathing heavily and needing more than anything to rest. He hadn't been able to eat, much less sleep, since the last failed attempt on Dumbledore's life. The poisoned wine had been desperate on his part, and stupid, but he hadn't seen any other way. The cabinet wasn't working, and there was no way a sixteen year old boy was going to be able to fix it when the staff at Borgin and Burke's hadn't been able to the past twenty years. Then it had ended up in the wrong cup, and suspicion had turned even stronger towards him. He'd been pulled into Snape's office more than once for the teacher to plead for Draco to stop, to let him intervene, but Draco had had no choice but to turn him down every time.

Harry stood with him for a few minutes, their backs leaned against the cold castle walls, listening intently for any sign of company. His hand was locked on Draco's shoulder, more protectively than threateningly it seemed, and Draco was thankful for anything that would keep him standing.

"Where are we going, Potter?" he asked when he had gotten his breathe back.

"The Room of Requirement," Harry said, and then waved off the look of surprise on Draco's face, "You know I held a defense class in there last year--spent a good few months trying to break in--and I know you've been skulking around in there this year. At the very least, it'll give us a safer place to come up with a plan than Moaning Myrtle's bathroom. I'm willing to bet she heard at least some of our conversation, and I've gotten secrets out of her with nothing more than vague flirting."

Draco laughed, despite himself.

"Can't get a live girl, then?"

Harry rolled his eyes, "I can get whoever I'd like to get, *Malfoy*. Or, I should be able to. Not that I've tried much."

Draco laughed again, and Harry shoved his shoulder, albeit gently.

"Besides," he added, "it was just the price of admission with Myrtle. I'd have flirted with a lamppost to get the same results."

"What a cad the great Potter is!"

"You seem to be in high enough spirits again. We need to get moving," Harry beckoned him forward and Draco followed. After another floor they had found it, the door blossoming in front of them before their needs were spoken.

Inside they found a series of armchairs around a low coffee table. It was smaller than Draco had ever seen the room, but in one counter sat a fireplace and a pot of floo powder, and in another the dark stained cabinet. Just as Harry had talked about. Draco had only ever needed access to the cabinet itself, and so had picked his way through piles of furniture and treasures every time, assuming that basic access was all the room offered. He felt a bit silly now, knowing he could gave asked for more.

On the table a few trays of food appeared, blinking into sight much the same way he'd seen breakfast appear in the Great Hall each morning. Harry wondered aloud if the elves in the kitchens were alerted by the room, and then wilted a bit at Draco's panicked expression.

"The elves won't tell anyone anything. They're the most invested of everyone in taking Voldemort down, no matter how much someone flirts with them."

It didn't reassure him much but Draco at least smiled in Harry's direction before striding towards the cabinet.

"It won't do you much good to stare at it, Malfoy, Harry called from the armchairs. He'd already made himself comfortable, "Come and eat, the Room gave us these scones for a reason. I'm assuming raspberry lemon is your favorite, it certainly isn't mine."

Draco sighed, but his stomach was in a tight knot, already angry at missing another breakfast. He came back and sunk into the chair across from Harry, grabbing a few cakes and scones off the tray without looking.

"I'll just throw these up in an hour," he grumbled.

"Try, at least. And talk to me. What exactly was the plan with this room and that cabinet?"

"Reinforcements, basically. Whenever I get it fixed, I'm to owl home to let the others know, and then storm up to Dumbledore's office, wand out, and do the deed. A few Death Eaters will come through that cabinet and stand guard outside the office, securing the school for...for *him*."

Harry ate, thoughtfully, staring into the corner as if the doors might creak open now and reveal an icy white hand within.

"Where does the cursed necklace come into that plan? Or the wine?"

Draco sighed and ran a hand through his hair. He looked like hell, he was sure.

"Well it's not an appealing prospect, is it? Having Death Eaters crawling all over, standing watch for me to 'do my duty'. Nor does having to do it...personally..." he set down the cake he'd been working on, now ashes in his mouth, "Besides which, I don't think I'll ever be able to make it work. I thought I'd really had it a month ago until I sent some birds through. They just came back as bones."

He ground his hands into his temples. It was all more than he could carry, so much more.

"I didn't want to hurt anyone at all, especially not people who had no part in this fight."

Another moment of silence passed, Draco fighting to keep his watering eyes from turning into tears. Then Harry stood decisively, brushing the crumbs from the front of his sweater.

"Let me speak to the Order," Harry said, "They may have a better sense of how to handle this."

The fireplace's floo powder sat in a small metal cooking pot on the hearth and Harry chuckled to himself as he dug his fingers in. Draco had to admit it was a funny sight. His house (and most houses he assumed) had something much more ornate. It served the task just fine though, and Harry held a pinch just above the flames before hesitating.

"You might want to stand out of the line of sight," he said over his shoulder, "Just until I have time to explain."

Draco's chest tightened but he did as he was told, joining Harry beside the fireplace and leaning against the wall where no one would see him from inside the hearth. He heard a pop as the fire ignited the powder, and a murmur of "Grimmauld Place". Then Harry shoved his head into the fireplace and began speaking to someone on the other end.

He explained the situation in much kinder words than Draco would have chosen for himself. The threat of death, the beatings, the plans to attack the school all came to light, and the angry fights they'd had so far that year remained unspoken. He couldn't make out what was being said on the other side, but by the way Harry responded he thought it might be positive after all. He eased down the wall to sit on his heels, a small tinder of hope lighting in his chest. Maybe they could help. Maybe they would actually be willing to.

Harry's hand shot out from his side and groped around trying to find Draco. He offered his arm to Harry's grip and shifted cautiously to sit beside him. Harry pulled back, widening the flames so that both of them could be seen. Through the fire Draco could see an older wizard with lank black hair, and the firey red hair of who he assumed to be one of the Weasleys.

"Draco, you remember Professor Lupin and this is Arthur Weasley."

Draco bit his tongue at the mention of Lupin--did these people really trust a werewolf like this? The circumstances didn't allow him much choice in bedfellow, however. He nodded at each of them with a tight lipped smile.

"Harry's told you what we know so far. Do you think you might be able to help them? Help my family?"

"They would have to be willing to leave, Draco. Are you sure your mother and father are up for that risk? Are they aware of your desire to leave?" Lupin's voice sounded like harsh gravel. The year hadn't been easy on any of them it seemed.

The tinder of hope began to die again.

"No," Draco said quietly, "They don't know, and they'd be terrified if I told them. My father is still clinging to some hope of regaining the Dark Lord's good graces. My mother...she might come if I asked. If she could be assured that the two of us would make it out safely."

"I can't promise that. I can promise that we will try. Not only out of kindness, though, you have a lot of information we desperately need. You must answer whatever we ask, do you understand?"

"I do."

"Can you owl your mother? Not to reveal the whole scheme, but just to let her know that you'll be coming home soon?"

"I don't think I can. The Dark Lord has been staying in Malfoy Manor for the last year, he's given every indication he plans to stay indefinitely."

A smile played across Lupin's grim face. Draco thought he looked rather like a boy again, with the spark allowed back into his eyes for a moment.

"Now that," he said, "Is exactly the kind of information we are hoping for."


	2. Chapter 2

It had been three weeks before they'd been able to get a meeting together. News mostly traveled through the grapevine these days, with so many people gone from Grimmauld Place to work or school. The night it finally arrived Harry's stomach felt sour and heavy. He prayed that everything he'd promised Draco would be within their grasp, but each passing day without news of a plan had him more and more worried.

Ron and Hermione hadn't been the most receptive to bringing Draco into the fold. He'd spoken to Hagrid first, explaining the situation at length while Draco sat silently in the corner. Then, when he knew Hagrid understood, he'd asked his two friends to come down to the hut one night, in the hopes that it would be fairly neutral ground. He trusted them all, at least, to avoid fighting in front of Hagrid.

Hermione bristled during the whole conversation, peppering Draco with a thousand questions. Ron stayed mostly silent, studying his face and drinking the bitter tea Hagrid had offered. After a few hours Hermione was sated, although still unhappy, and Draco looked exhausted. Ron, however, found his voice once everyone else had fallen silent.

"If you don't mind me saying, I haven't heard much of a change in heart. Seems like you're only defecting now that thing's aren't in your favor. What's to change you swinging back if the tides change again?"

Hagrid coughed, and turned to the fireplace to heat another kettle. Draco tried to meet Ron's eye, but couldn't quite force himself to do it.

"What are you expecting to hear, Weasley? That I've amended my sinner's heart and am ready to repent of everything I've ever done? You're still a git. Hermione's still violent. Potter's still a stalker. And I've still got a bad taste in my mouth when it comes to muggles. Maybe I was brainwashed into thinking so like all of you say, maybe I'm actually right. What should matter to you is which side I'm willing to fight on. I have no loyalty to You-know-who or his vision of the perfect world, that evaporated the day I saw him kick my father in the ribs. Since then it's been about survival, that's what the Malfoy family has always been good at. Until recently anyway..."

He blew out threw his teeth and then straightened up, finally looking the three of them in the face.

"I'm willing to help you all if you're willing to help me and my family get as far away from You-know-who as humanly possible, nothing more or less. From the Order members I've spoken to so far, that seems pretty standard."

Hagrid stood, the water in the kettle bubbling and hot.

"I don' think you'll get much more than tha', Ron. Opinions change slow," he nodded in Draco's direction, "No offense."

Draco waved the apology away.

Once that tenuous peace had been reached, Harry had the help he needed. Most of the time he sat by the fireplace or the owlry waiting for news. A few times, he snuck into the Slytherin common room to shake Draco awake, so they could pass more information to the Order in the middle of the night. When Ron or Hermione could they passed Draco updates in class. Now that the Order was certain where Voldemort was hiding out they were keeping tabs on who came and went to Malfoy Manor even finding a way to monitor several of the floo within the house. Every time Narcissa was seen healthy and alive, they let Draco know. Although he didn't completely uncoil, he began eating again, Harry could see it in the recent roundness of his cheeks.

Now, the night of the meeting, Harry waited in the third floor bathrooms, invisibility cloak laid across his legs. They all needed to be in one place to attend the meeting, and it was easier to sneak one Slytherin past the Fat Lady than it was to sneak three Gryffindors into the dungeons. Draco kept him waiting, though, and Harry nervously fussed with the hem on the cloak as the sour feeling in his stomach worsened.

Fifteen minutes past the appointed time, Harry began to feel anxious. If Draco had changed his mind, and broken their confidence, he could have some dangerous companions with him when he arrived. If he arrived at all. Harry swung the cloak over his shoulders and pulled up the hood, disappearing from view, and then padded on the balls of his feet to a corner of the room opposite the door. It wasn't long after he'd taken up this position that Malfoy poked his head in from the hallway.

"Potter?" he whispered, carefully shutting the door behind him, "Potter? I got held up with Crabbe, I--oh no...he didn't come..."

Whatever anyone else believed about Draco, the sincere look of panic was enough for Harry. He lifted the cloak away from his face, and the blond haired boy jumped a mile into the air.

"Son of a *banshee*, Potter! Are you trying to give me a fright?!"

"I didn't have to try too hard, did I?" he smiled.

Draco glared him down with as much malice as he could muster, but when Harry took off the cloak to hand to him he accepted it and disappeared beneath it.

"We'll head straight to the common room, and then take the floo to the Order. We've already checked that no one is monitoring that particular fireplace tonight, but we have to hurry in case it doesn't stay that way."

"What if we get stuck away from the castle? We can't apparate in, it's not allowed," Malfoy asked.

"There are a lot of ways in and out of this castle," Harry smirked. He'd always imagined Malfoy getting up to just as much mischief as him and his friends all these years. Looked like he was wrong.

Without any answer, Harry turned and exited the bathroom, making sure to hold the door so Draco could slip out behind him. They worked their way to the Gryffindor common room in silence, only stopping to trade a few words with the Fat Lady's portrait, and then head upstairs into the warm living area. Ron and Hermione sat together by the fire, hands laced together. Harry checked the corners of the room and then nodded to Draco who threw the cloak off.

"Ready when you are," Harry said.

"Right," Ron grabbed a handful of floo powder and stepped through the hearth. Hermione followed, and then Harry still watching the door waved Draco on. He disappeared in a flash of green, leaving the room feeling hollow and empty.

 

* * *

 

 

Draco had never visited Grimmauld Place, although he'd heard stories over the years. Most of the Blacks had fallen out of favor among pureblood families, whether for being blood traitors or for being purity zealots. It hadn't escaped his family's notice that Bellatrix estranged them from the world just as profoundly as Andromeda had. When Draco stepped from the fireplace into the main sitting room his breath caught in his throat. The high ceiling, painted a glimmering black, dripped with several candle laden chandeliers. Art and metalwork covered the walls, heavy with a history he had grown up learning. It was only when Harry came through the same fireplace, falling into Draco's back, that he was able to pull his eyes away and look at the crowd assembled on various chairs and couches around the room. At the back, in a plum colored wing backed chair, sat the Headmaster, his tired eyes appraising Draco dispassionately from behind his spectacles.

"I'm glad you're finally all here. Join us, there's a lot to discuss."

Draco was sure then that his heart had stopped beating.

A firm hand on the back of his arm steered him to a nearby loveseat and Harry pulled him down to sit side by side. The small talk in the corners of the room simmered down as Arthur Weasley cupped his hands around his mouth and let out a high pitched whistle that stung Draco's ears. Arthur beamed at Harry, and Harry offered a plastic smile back.

"Many of you have been informed of Mister Malfoy's intentions in coming here, but I know that some of you have not. He has come to the Order with information about Voldemort, where he is staying, with whom, and what he is planning. It would seem that Voldemort has finally lost the Malfoys as allies, and in thanks for this assistance we are going to do our best to protect him, where we are able. Mister Malfoy, would you be so kind as to explain the current status?"

Draco swallowed the stone in his throat and drew himself up. He didn't want to risk seeing the expressions on the others' faces, so sure they would show nothing but resentment, so he focused instead on a portrait on the far wall and spoke to it.

"I received an owl last week from my father, asking for progress on the repair of the vanishing cabinet. Through this cabinet the Dark Lord intends on sending Death Eaters to secure the school near the end of the year, and in the letter my father intimated that the Dark Lord has grown impatient. If I cannot find a way to fix it soon he intends to enter the castle by other means, I don't know what those are. If I can repair the vanishing cabinet in time, the plan will go ahead immediately. Three to four men will come through, escort me up to the Headmaster's tower, and...."

Harry grabbed hold of his wrist, gently, and squeezed. Draco didn't dare break eye contact with the portrait, too afraid of the crowd and what was sure to happen when they learned of his orders. Did Dumbledore know? Would he have come if he did? More importantly how many of the others knew? He could feel the burning of Moody's magical eye coming from a darkened corner. If Mad Eye knew, he would have already been hung from the chandelier. Before he could find his words again, Dumbledore spoke.

"And kill me. I've known for some time, now," he said softly, "What *is* the progress on the vanishing cabinet, Mister Malfoy?"

"I don't...I don't have any progress since my last attempt in April. The cabinet is fixed physically, and I've tried every portal charm I can find in my schoolbooks. It allows passage, but anyone who steps inside is eaten alive."

"I see."

A voice rose from a brightly colored young woman and Draco finally pulled his eyes down to see who was speaking. He didn't know her exactly, but something in her features looked incredibly familiar. Aside from the shifting colors of her hair and the rapidly darkening eyes he would have sworn she had been at some Christmas at the manor long ago.

"If they plan to kill you, we will stop them! I say we smash the cabinet apart. _Make_ them come in through the sewers."

Dumbledore smiled at her briefly, "As always, I admire your passion Tonks. However we cannot tip our hand to Voldemort, nor can we put people in danger to do it. If they are planning on coming through the cabinet we can be ready for them on the other side. Mister Malfoy, where is the cabinet now?"

"In the Room of Requirement, sir."

"Very well. Remus, you will accompany me back to Hogwarts, and we can see what can be done to repair this cabinet. Draco, you shall assist him, between your classes, so that you have an understanding of what is done to relay back home. Once it is finished, notify us first, do not owl home until the Order is prepared. Is that understood?"

Draco glanced around the room. There was some anger there, but almost everyone was looking straight at Dumbledore, determined and hopeful. It seemed this was the best plan they'd had in a while. He met Dumbledore's gaze for the first time, and nodded.

"Very good. Both you and Mister Potter are excused from the rest of tonight's meeting. You may join Mister Weasley and Miss Granger upstairs."

"What?" Harry sputtered, "No, we want to stay, we want to know what's happening! What about Malfoy's family? What about the pensieve?"

"You will remain appraised Harry, but Missus Weasley is right. You are far too young for most of our doings here. If there's one thing we are all afraid of, it's the wrath of that woman. Go upstairs now," Dumbledore's eyes crinkled into a smile, and then he turned away from them completely.

Harry sighed to himself and then stood, still holding Draco's wrist. They trod up the stairs--Harry stomping like a child--and into a bedroom near the back of the house. Granger and Weasley were waiting on the windowseat, looking bored out of their skulls for their part.

"Hello," Ron offered a nod in Malfoy's direction, "How did it go Harry?"

Harry let go of Draco and flopped down on the bed, covering his eyes with the crook of his arm.

"The same as always. They heard what we had to say, made a plan, and then ushered us out before we could hear too much."

"What is the plan, Harry?" Hermione refused to acknowledge Draco's presence at all, instead keeping her eyes planted on the book in her lap.

"To let Voldemort go ahead with his plan and ambush him. It doesn't do much for Draco though, and it doesn't prevent Snape from tipping them off."

"Snape?" Draco said, "You all know about..."

"Bit obvious, mate," Ron said, "The man practically advertises it with the way he wanders the castle at night, gives special help to Death Eater's kids, and the like. You can see him wince every once in a while and you just know he's trying not to grab his arm. It's that Mark, from the first war."

Draco sunk down into a chair in the corner. He wondered how obvious he had been this whole time. Being under those orders was one of the worst things he'd been through so far, knowing just how terrible the consequences could be for failure, and how terrible the rewards for success. Still, he had thought he'd kept it mostly together.

"Do you know what it's like receiving a Mark?" he asked.

Hermione's eyebrows shot up, and both Harry and Ron sat up to look at him. It would seem Harry hadn't divulged that piece of information but no one said anything. Draco rolled up his sleeve once again, to show the skull and snake underneath.

"They don't take you to a posh shop on Knockturn Alley, let you sit in a barber chair and pick an option off the wall. In my case he told me to lay down on my kitchen table. The Dark Lord did it himself, he always does. First he burns in the design with the tip of his wand, feels like a fireplace poker. You have to stay quiet, he says he needs the quiet to work, but it isn't easy. Then the starts the enchantments to make it move, the enchantments to allow it to summon him, felt like a million of them. Those feel like salt being ground into you. You have to keep quiet. Father gave me a rag to bite down on. Mother couldn't watch. After a few hours when it's finally finished, he clamps a hand down onto the Mark and congratulates you. Then they send you to your bedroom to sweat out the fever you get for the next few days."

As he spoke he traced a finger along the curving snake. He hated looking at it, always taking care to dress in the dark of the morning and avoid looking down in the shower. There was a spot along one side of the snake where he had twitched, causing the wand to slip. He'd received a strike to the face for it.

"The first few people were probably proud to get it," Hermione said, "Some idiotic sign of strength and grit."

"Proud?" Ron scoffed.

"The wizarding world is a bit different, but people aren't. Muggles have all kind of idiotic rights of passage," she looked at the Mark on Draco's arm, as if trying to pull some meaning out of it, "Does it still hurt?"

"Not all the time. And you're right, people were proud. Some people still are, Goyle practically beams about it. I always wanted one when I was younger, but now..."

He went to cover it up again when Hermione closed her book decisively, and crossed the room in only a few steps. She took his arm delicately into one hand, and pressed her wand against the skin with the other.

"This won't hurt. May I take a look?" she asked.

He nodded. She muttered to herself and and pale lavender glow flowed out from her wand to cover the mark in a mist. It felt cool, like ice water, and soon his fingers were shivering. Hermione withdrew her wand and he stuff his hand deep inside his cloak.

"I think I know what he used to keep it from healing. It reacted just like the Vulnera Vesicarum curse. If I'm right, when this is all over, I think I might be able to remove it."

It wasn't a hug and an induction to the Saint Potter Club, but her face had softened and he knew it was more kindness than she had ever intended to show him. He offered a weak smile and curled up tighter on the chair.

"I'd like that."


	3. Chapter 3

With the introduction of new allies came the closing off of old ones. Draco’s relationship with Crabbe and Goyle had never been much more than surface level. Hell, he still didn’t even use their first names after years of wreaking havoc at family events and longer still at Hogwarts together. He’d envied others’ friendships deeply, even as he scowled at Ginny crying on Dean’s shoulder in the hallway, because he knew that when it came down to it he would never be able to rely on his friends for that. But it was what he had had, and meager though it may be he mourned the loss of it. He kept secrets from them, banishing them from helping him in the Room of Requirement, and it took only a few days before they noticed his isolation and began to murmur with Nott and Parkinson in the common room. He knew the weight of everything Potter and the rest were doing for him, and with him. It didn’t make it easier.

By Sunday, less than a week later, he found himself wandering the halls just to keep away from the incessant murmurs. It was the first time all year he’d been free of responsibility, in the short term at least, and able to just wander without that damned cabinet hanging over his head like a shroud. Lupin had gotten a few birds through with only minor injuries and scalded feathers, and that was within two days of work. The knot in Draco’s chest had begun to uncoil in earnest.

He wandered up to the owlry, hoping to hear from his mother, or maybe from a cousin at Durmstrang, or even that pink-haired woman from the meeting the other night—he was sure they were related somehow. Anyone who would offer him a kind word, even if it was only done to keep up appearances. There were a few owls huddled in the rafters with parchment strapped to their legs, waiting patiently for the next mealtime at the Great Hall to deliver their goods. In the middle of a row he spotted his eagle owl slumped against it’s neighbor, content, and he cupped his hands to his mouth to call for it.

“Please tell me you don’t intend to whistle,” Harry Potter’s voice in the doorway was all too distinct. Draco instinctively curled his face into a glower and then, catching himself, a smile, “I will regret showing that trick to Mister Weasley for the rest of my life.”  
Draco winced at the memory, his ears prickling.

“You’re to blame for that? Figures,” he turned back up and offered a small set of hoots, muffled through his hands, and the eagle owl leapt from its perch to settle nearby. He loosened the parchment from its leg, and once freed it spread it’s wings and lithely took flight, soaring towards the openings at the roof of the tower. Draco went to stuff the note in his pocket for later when Harry cocked an eyebrow and cleared his throat.

“Is it news? From the manor?”

He wanted to tell Harry to get stuffed. These were his kind words and no one else could have them. But no amount of soul-baring so far had washed the suspicion from him yet, he knew that, and he couldn’t afford to look like he was hiding something. He fished it back out again and opened it in front of Harry, reading slowly so as to omit anything too treacly sweet. He could tell by the stamp it was from his mother.

_Darling,_

_We here at home are proud of the work you are doing for our Lord, and our family. By your loyal actions, our name will soon be restored, and I hope to congratulate you in person within just a few weeks when you get off the train._  
_Your father and I will be traveling next Wednesday morning to our house in Berkshire, to find some antiques for the manor, so send any news on the cabinet promptly. We are excited for you, and don’t want to miss any letters._

 _I love you,_  
_Mother_

Draco’s mouth was as dry as stone by the end, and when he looked up at Potter he could see the concern settling into his eyes as well.

“What exactly did she mean, Draco?”

He stared at the words, scrawled carefully in golden ink as always, and tried to pin down his suddenly ragged and disjointed breathing. The loyal actions were obvious, but the rest…he shouldn’t be returning by train, nor should he be expected to reply by Wednesday. That was only three days from now, far sooner than the deadline he’d originally been provided.

“It’s the Dark Lord,” he said, voice shaking, “He’s planning to storm the castle, by Wednesday it sounds like. He’s already assumed I’ve failed, my mother is worried about me coming home in a box.”

Harry crossed the room and grabbed hold of Draco’s shoulders. He wasn’t aware he had been shaking, and gladly leaned against Harry’s hands with all of his weight, his head coming to rest on his shoulder. Tears were flooding his eyes and his throat, threatening to burst from his head at any moment. For his part, Harry just stood silent and held Draco fast. He didn’t speak when the tears did come, or perhaps he didn’t notice. The owlry felt like it was spinning beneath them, and Draco became acutely aware of the stink of bird shit.

“Can we go somewhere? Anywhere?” he choked out.

“Yeah…We’ll find somewhere.”

Harry shifted to Draco’s side and lead him down the narrow staircase, still supporting most of his weight. They marched through the corridors stoically, Draco flinching when a group of third years rounded a corner. Harry held on to him tightly.

“Don’t think about them,” he said, his voice low, “They can sod right off. If you’re right and we only have a couple of days, it won’t make much difference for us to keep up our facade. Getting somewhere we can pull ourselves together matters more.”

Draco nodded as discreetly as he could and set his jaw in that old familiar way. He tried to stand upright, appear haughty. Anything to avoid accusations of weakness. Harry steered him, within a few minutes, to the Gryffindor common room, silencing the Fat Lady’s protestations with a quick flick of his wand.

“How—?”

“Same way you learned how to get out of the dungeons undetected. Or smoke in the bathrooms. Or whatever it is Slytherins get up to. Students find a way to do what they please,” he deposited Draco in a chair by the fire and yelled up the stairs for Ron and Hermione, “Although that move was obvious enough that McGonagall will be here within a few minutes to scold us. Saves us some time, I figure.”

“Oi! Where’s the fire?” Ron bounded down the stairs and stopped short when he saw Draco, pale and still shaking. He’d been locking his jaw so long his teeth were starting to ache, but he didn’t make any move to relax, “What’s wrong?”

Hermione appeared from another doorway, mirroring Ron’s look of shock. She turned on her heel and shuttered the doors going upstairs, locking them with a flick of the wand, and then closing the curtains one by one. There was a stomping from outside the portrait and then the door was thrown aside, every inch of McGonagall angry.

“Potter! Just because you know Dumbledore personally doesn’t mean you can flaunt the school’s rules whenever you want and assault a portrait! I can’t even—” she drew up short and scanned the room, then stared at Harry with renewed intensity.

“Voldemort is coming, Malfoy got word from home. In the next few days, and if Draco doesn’t reply back with his job done they’ll be coming in through the sewers, or the lake, or some other avenue. Malfoy, show her the letter.”

It was crumpled into a ball in his right hand, and Draco realized with a sob that he’d torn it down the middle in the process. Every muscle on him was tight with fear. He slowly worked his fingers open and handed it over, not wanting to see the golden handwriting again. McGonagall took it delicately and skimmed, pausing halfway down the page.

“Mister Malfoy what is in Berkshire?”

“What?” he asked softly.

“They said they are going to Berkshire to retrieve antiques. In all our surveillance they have never allowed both of your parents out of the Manor at the same time, and I can’t imagine something so frivolous as flower vases would change that now. They’re retrieving something for Voldemort, what do your parents keep stored at Berkshire?”

He ground his palms into his eyes and let his head fall back, flooding with memories of summers in the red brick house encircled by willows. It wasn’t every year that they’d been able to attend—father’s business usually didn’t permit vacations—but the times they had spent there were warm and full of sun, the three of them shut into a tiny two bedrooms eating out of the garden out back. The rest of the house was closed off, cloth over all the furniture and cobwebs piled up in the corners like lace. He remembered the stream outside with a stone bridge crossing it, and the high green grass out back, and traipsing through the attack in the afternoons after his mother had banished him so she could make dinner.

“Whatever it is, it’s in the attic at 12 Hallow Lane. We kept everything there, spare furniture, off season silverware, and hundreds of portraits.”

Harry frowned, “Portraits of who?”

“The whole family,” Draco shrugged, “but mainly the spares. We must have five portraits of Phineas Black around, but you don’t need more than one at the manor at a time.”

“Phineas Black,” McGonagall’s voice was cold and sharp, “There’s a portrait just like it in Dumbledore’s office.”

She swept her arms around the three Gryffindors, herding them towards the door, and gently tugged on Draco’s shoulder as if asking him to follow. He stood, still numb, and mumbled an unlocking spell on the dormitory doors before shuffling behind her out into the main hallways.

 

* * *

 

 

A dozen people milled around the atrium holding Dumbledore’s desk, and Harry felt nostalgic for the times when it had been just him and the old headmaster, speaking privately in low voices about secrets only Harry could be trusted with. Now, there were teachers and Order members fighting over the exact wording of Draco’s letter home, while Draco himself sat quietly in an armchair, eating the toffees Dumbledore had passed his way as soon as he’d arrived. Harry exchanged a meaningful look at Hermione, who was perched on a windowsill, and she rolled her eyes in response.

With the letter sorted and sent out the window on Draco’s eagle owl, the professors turned their eyes again to the teenagers scattered around the room.

“This certainly speeds up our timeline, but with this warning we should be able to handle the assault. It’s important we all be appraised of the specifics,” Dumbledore said, meeting Draco’s eye before continuing, “Draco, your parents will be leaving Wednesday morning. We included in our response that I will be gone from the school until Wednesday afternoon, which will force Voldemort to wait until at least then to send through the cabinet. Once your parents have arrived, they will be met by Kingsley Shacklebolt and Nymphadora Tonks who will take them back to Grimmauld Place. I imagine some force will need to be applied to gain their cooperation, but trust me when I say they will not be harmed. Only kept captive so that they cannot warn the other Death Eaters, until you three can be reunited. Miss Granger and Mister Weasley, you will join Professor McGonagall tomorrow as she places protective charms on each student dormitory. On Wednesday after classes we will be confining the students to the lower levels to avoid any harm coming to them. Professor Lupin has only barely gotten the cabinet working, so anyone who comes through may be a bit singed, which means that Draco, you must be cautious not to draw their ire. Go ahead with the plans they make as if nothing is different. When you charge into my office, we will be waiting and the intruders will be taken into custody. Do you all understand?”

“What am I doing Professor?” Harry knew his voice sounded whinging and aggravated, but it was all he could do to keep from spitting. He would not be confined to Grimmauld Place again, or anywhere else for that matter.

“Harry,” Dumbledore’s voice was low, kindly but giving warning, and Harry bit his tongue, “You will be coming with me away from the castle. We have an errand to run that is of grave importance.”

With a wave, the headmaster dismissed them all and the crowd dispersed. As they filed out the door Harry lingered, hoping to be told more, to be brought back into the atrium so they could speak privately about the errand. The memories from the pensieve still swirled in his head, Tom Riddle asking Slughorn about horcruxes with barely restrained delight, his eyes flashing tempestuously as Harry had seen them do mere inches from his face in the past. He could only hope this errand was in pursuit of a horcrux, and the means to begin erasing those pieces of Voldemort’s soul from the earth.

Instead Dumbledore’s gaze was still leveled at Draco, and he spoke quietly, as if Draco were made of spun glass.

“Mister Malfoy, when the time comes in this tower, keep a brave face. You should not be the one to kill me, a boy your age does not need that on his soul, but it’s in your best interest to appear to try. I trust you.”

Splaying his hands across the leather on his desk top Dumbledore sat back in his chair, looking weary and old. He had been gray and wizened as long as Harry had known him but somehow it had intensified this year. His face sagged and Harry could see dark circles like bruises behind the rim of Dumbledore’s glasses. He fixed Harry with a complicated look.

“You may both leave, now, Mister Potter.”

With a shuffle, Malfoy rose and headed for the door, Harry following with his tail between his legs. It would be more silence and secrets, then. When they got past the griffin and into the hallway, Draco stopped short, bringing a hand up to clasp Harry’s arm.

“Could you come with me? To the room of requirement? I don’t want to face anyone in my common room right now, not looking like this.”

He stared straight ahead and Harry took a moment to appraise him. Tears had stained his cheeks, which were still a ruddy scarlet, and his eyes looked much the same. His crying had been quiet and reserved, and while they had all known he was upset Harry hadn’t realized just how drained the last hour had left him. He placed an hand on top of Draco’s and nodded, then when Draco didn’t see the affirmation, he gently led him in the direction of the staircase.

 

* * *

 

 

The room of requirement looked much the same as the last time they had visited, minus the cabinet in the corner. More food appeared on the table, this time a brothy soup and loaves of bread all piled up on a tray. Harry led Draco to sit on one of the couches and then got comfortable on his own. Draco dug his hands into the arm of the sofa, trying and failing to look dignified, as Harry spooned out their meal into bowls and passed one over

“It’s alright to be upset, Malfoy.”

“It’s useless,” Draco spat, “I’m _useless_. I’m having to rely on people who wanted to gut and skin me as of last month, and the only thing I can do in this situation is let the Death Eaters in and then stand in the corner firing fake curses while other people have it out. God knows what those brutes will do to my parents, they’re only civil to me because I’m being compliant.”

His words were acidic, and Harry hid a shiver that ran up his shoulders. It wouldn’t matter much what either of them did that day, he knew that. They were door-openers, errand boys, the ones whose main contribution to the effort was simply being a warm body. He didn’t mean to be so resentful, but he shared in Draco’s anger even when he didn’t wear it on his face. He sighed and ran a hand through his hair.

“Compliant is what they need right now, believe me. I’ve given them quite their fill of defiance. If it weren’t for the prophecy, I think a few of them might rather send me off to Durmstrang for the duration.”

“That’s not true and you know it, Potter.”

“I know they care about me,” Harry rolled his eyes, “But they’d do it all the same. I’ve screwed up everything that’s fallen to me so far, and spent a lot of time shouting at meetings. They keep saying I’m too young to be involved in something I’ve been involved with since I was one year old, and it frustrates the hell out of me.”

Draco smirked, and stirred his soup absentmindedly.

“Ah yes, the infamous boy who lived. Funny how you get credit for just laying there and failing to die.”

Harry knew the words were intended to hurt, but he just shrugged his shoulder and ripped a chunk off his bread.

“Believe me, I’ve had the same thought.”

They ate in silence for fifteen minutes, the fireplace crackling and popping to punctuate their brewing thoughts. Finally Draco sighed heavily and shoved his empty bowl back onto the coffee table.

“I’m tired of being such a bundle of nerves,” he said, “Letting everything just happen to me. I want to be able to save my family from this, I want to be able to keep our name in the noble place it deserves to be, I want to be able to stand the way my father does—or used to—with his back straight and proud and self assured. The first conflict I’ve dealt with in my life and I folded like a house of cards in front of you in a _fucking_ lavatory.”

Harry snorted.

“Your first conflict? Not to say this isn’t bad, but Merlin are you spoiled if this is the first real problem you’ve ever had.”

Draco grabbed a loaf of bread and threw it at Harry, who ducked his head to the side with a smirk.

“I do not need your insane competition of suffering,” Draco said, “You want me to say you’re an abused, put-upon arsehole, fine. That doesn’t make Voldemort’s ugly presence blackening my childhood home unimportant, you selfish git.”

Harry opened his mouth to reply and then closed it. It didn’t help anyone for them to keep this rivalry between them going. Hell, Draco had asked him to come here, ostensibly for comfort and company while he pulled himself together. A door blossomed just to Harry’s left and Draco went to open it, revealing a washroom. He splashed his face with water, letting the sink run over his hands.

“Tell me about your parents,” Harry asked. Draco paused where he was and looked at Harry sideways, “I only met your father in passing. I don’t think I met your mother at all.”

“They’re good people,” Draco said quietly, “My mother loves me so deeply, I’m able to tell her everything. It’s not something most people in Slytherin can say about their mothers, and I’ve seen how lucky it makes me. My father has always been strong and steady. If I asked him a question, he had an answer, for everything. It always made me feel safe, like I knew exactly who I was.”

He came out of the washroom and slumped against the wall, sliding down until he was sitting on the floor, hands tangled in his hair. It looked dingy and unwashed.

“We thought you were going to be the new Dark Lord, did you know that?” Draco didn’t look up and Harry’s face froze in place, “That’s all anyone talked about when I was little, when mother and father’s friends would come over. No one was sure why you had lived, or where you had gone after the day the Dark Lord died. Of course most of the people in public called you a saviour but the prevailing theory, at least among the adults I knew, was that the Dark Lord had raised himself using you, and that when you came of age it would herald in a renewal in pureblood values. The first day of school, before I got on the train, my father made sure every button was done just so, and my stupid little hat was covering my ears, and he told me to make a good impression with you. To impress you. None of it worked out how I thought it would. Nothing in this school ever does.”

Harry felt a heat rising in his face, angry and violent. How could he ever be compared to Voldemort? How could anyone think that’s what he would become? The memory of the sorting hat rose to the surface of his thoughts, along with the unanswered question of what the hat had seen in him to almost place him in Slytherin, and the churning feeling in his head get worse.

“I wasn’t off somewhere being trained, if that’s what you all thought. I was with my aunt and uncle all those years. Muggles. Mostly I was just starving and cleaning, they didn’t like me much. I go to Ron’s for summers now, but for a while I didn’t have a choice but to go back there during breaks, and then they’d lock me in my room,” his vision got blurry as tears built up behind them, “Do you think… that Dumbledore wondered the same thing about me? Thought I might go dark? And that’s why he left me there?”

Harry heard Draco blowing out through his teeth, a low hissing sound. He was afraid to look at him.

“Who the hell knows what they thought? Some noble sacrifice bullshit probably. Hell of a way to treat a saviour though,” he snorted suddenly, and Harry whipped his head around in surprise, “My father would have wet himself if he knew that back then. _A boy should learn about his heritage!_ ”

Draco’s imitation was eerily good and Harry caught himself laughing along.

“Sometimes I think that there are a million choices that I could have made differently, that would have led to a different outcome,” Draco said, “But more and more lately I think that’s a lie. All of this was building anyway, with or without either of us. I hate it, being so powerless, but I think I am. Other people decided which side of the war I would be on. Other people will decide if I live, and who wins. Other people will save my family, and decide if our name is worth anything.”

“I don’t know,” Harry said, wiping his eyes with his sleeve, “You could have blown my face off in the lavatory instead. I appreciate that choice.”

They both laughed, in a desperate and eager way. They needed to laugh, the hurt that clouded the room was beginning to suffocate them.

“You know if you still don’t want to go back to the dungeon, I could sneak you into the Gryffindor common room. Ron has a whole pile of sweats from Fred and George’s shop stashed under his bed, and I’m sure we’d all like the distraction tonight.”

“No,” Draco sniffed, “I should probably show my face tonight, I’ve been avoiding the dungeons too many days in a row. Have to keep up appearances for two more days, at least.”

“Well, if you change your mind, you can always tell the Fat Lady you need to speak to me. She’ll tell me you’re there so I can meet you in the hallway.”

Draco nodded, and then stood silently. He slipped out of sight to run cold water against his face again, and then swiped a loaf of bread from the table on his way out. The door clicked closed and then Harry was alone, thoughts still churning like angry waves.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not sure how to link to it specifically, but Draco's remarks about Harry being the Dark Lord in this chapter come from Pottermore, on the page that goes over Draco's history. So depending on whether you regard Pottermore backstory as being canon, you can take that information as gospel or not.
> 
> Also, if any of you lovely people are looking for a beta, I would be more than happy to get a beta for beta going. No matter how many times I proofread, there always seems to be some tiny detail I miss until days later.


	4. Chapter 4

Draco sat at the back of the hospital wing, his aching shoulders pressed against the cold tile wall. Ahead of him the members of the Order stood huddled around the handful of wounded, discussing the arrangements of Dumbledore's funeral.

Everything had gone to plan, minus a few vital details. Dumbledore and Potter had left the castle early in the morning going God-knows-where. He had waited until after lessons, when a loud droning siren from the lower floors verified to him that the students were safely locked in the dormitories. Then, hands shaking and head pounding, he had opened the vanishing cabinet and welcomed the long line of Death Eaters.

His Aunt Bellatrix had headed the group, a bundle of hissing and electric nerves. She was always unpredictable, but right now Draco could hardly stand to look at her. The others fanned out through the castle, searching high and low for their target: the old headmaster. Draco, on the other hand, was shoved forward by his Aunt as she searched almost as if she planned to use his body as a battering ram.

They found the headmaster within the half hour when a loud crack echoed down from the Astronomy tower. Apparition wasn't possible on school grounds for anyone else, and there was no mistaking the sound.

They had burst into the room, all bluster and brawn. The reinforcements they had been counting on weren't there, instead waiting in Dumbledore's office where the confrontation was meant to happen. Draco had leveled his wand at Professor Dumbledore, the words of a smoke-bomb charm on his tongue. Before he could cast it Professor Snape had appeared behind him, silencing Bellatrix with a dismissive wave, and pushed him to the back of the crowd. When he'd looked at his feet, unable to watch as the assassination unfolded, he'd caught a glimpse of Harry in the crawlspace below them, staring back up at him through the floorboards. They'd held each other's gaze for what felt like a lifetime, panic flooding every synapse they had between them. Then he'd heard  _Please_  in the headmaster's frail voice and  _Avada Kedavra_  in the potion master's and he'd shut his eyes as tightly as he could.

He heard the thud of a body against stone, and by the time he mustered the courage to look Dumbledore's body had already disappeared from the open window.

That was the sum of it. All the careful planning and forewarning, the trust Dumbledore had placed in him, had resulted in a dull thud as the strings were cut and his body became an empty vessel.

Professor McGonagall had assured him, fingers clasped tightly on his shoulder to help keep her standing, that he'd done everything he could. When Harry came raging up through the trapdoor and chased Snape from the castle grounds, he had looked to Draco for support, not revenge. He knew that no one blamed him.

It didn't matter. He knew it never would for him. He'd been instructed to fix the vanishing cabinet and failed. Instructed to direct the Death Eaters into a trap in the headmaster's office and failed. Instructed to keep them busy with fake curses and failed. Instructed to help Dumbledore survive this ambush and failed. As soon as the others were finished making plans about their next move in what was now a real and dangerous war, he would be going to see his parents to explain this litany of failure.

Weasley and Granger were sending nervous glances in his direction from across the room, and he wondered if he looked as gruesome as he felt.

When conversation shifted from the funeral to school safety, Potter and his friends broke off from the crowd and came to sit on either side of him. Granger sat farthest away, still stiff and bristling any time they had interacted. Before anything was said, as if attempting to gather his nerve, Potter laid a hand on top of Draco's.

"Have they told you where your mom and dad are being held?"

"The Burrow, whatever that means," he smirked, but it didn't reach his eyes, "You lot have really shit code names."

Ron snorted, and covered his face with his hand.

"That's my house, you bellend."

"Even I don't have a ridiculous nickname for my house, Weasley, and I'm just wealthy enough that people expect that kind of nonsense from me," his smirk grew, almost becoming a smile.

" _The Manor_ ," Ron said in his best impression of the Queen, "No, not silly at all."

There was a silence, more comfortable than before, and then Harry spoke again.

"Do you want us to go with you? In case..."

Draco sighed.

"It won't be a pleasant conversation, but they won't strike me if that's what you're worried about. Still," he stared dispassionately as the diminutive French girl clung to her lover, his face an eviscerated mess, "it would be nice not to be alone."

Harry squeezed his fingers again and Draco rolled his eyes.

"You might be made of glass, Potter, but I'm not. Let go."

His hand stayed exactly where it was.

"Maybe it isn't just for your sake," Harry said quietly.

 

* * *

 

The Malfoys had been confined to the attic of the Burrow, and it was there amidst dusty Christmas decorations and boxes of unused yarn that they were reunited with their son. It had been delightfully awkward, Ron snickering away as Malfoy attempted to wrap his mother in a hug without getting a face full of cobwebs, but the three had soon been banished to the stairwell so the Malfoys could have some privacy. Hermione had wandered downstairs in search of distraction and Ron had followed, leaving Harry to sit in silence, his head resting against the door jamb, trying his best to eavesdrop without appearing to do so.

"We were so worried, Draco. We didn't know what was happening..." Narcissa sounded like she was crying, high and near-hysterical.

"I couldn't warn you...you know he would have found out if you'd known, even if you hadn't said anything," Draco's voice shook, "He always finds out."

"Why did you  _do_  this? Why are we here?"

"Mum, I..." a sob rang out in the quiet, "I'm protecting us."

Harry heard a rough scoff, Lucius's high society manners likely preventing him from actually shouting, and the thwack of a cane striking the floorboards.

"You're ruining us!" he hissed, "We have been taken from our home, made out to be traitors! The Dark Lord was angry before, but he could forgive. We could have  _atoned_. Now we're as good as hung!"

More crying came from the other side of the door, muffled but anguished, and then quiet shushing from Narcissa.

"Father," Draco implored, "you can't still believe that. After everything he's done to us--"

"It will be nothing compared to what he will do! We are Malfoys. We survive. When he wins this war, takes the world back, we are meant to be at his side so we can continue to survive."

A long silence stretched out between the three of them, sobs dwindling down to labored breathing. Any moment Harry felt like the air around him would snap and recoil and they'd be shouting at the top of their breath. He prayed that something of him and his friends had rubbed off on the younger Malfoy, that for once in his godforsaken life he wouldn't choose his family. It was a desperate, irrational hope, but he allowed it to fill the hall, pushing out the anxiety he was feeling.

"No."

The voice that finally came was shaky, and thick with tears, but held every drop of confidence Harry knew Draco was capable of.

"He isn't going to win. The fact that you can't see it, that you're so devoted you would ignore it, doesn't change reality. You taught me to survive, to make sure our name survives. I intend to do just that, even if you fight me every step. I will not allow you to tie the Malfoy line to a lunatic. I will not allow you to make us into beaten dogs."

Harry's heart rose into his throat, slow and agonizing. Like almost everything so far in this battle, he wasn't sure how to feel about that answer, where it landed on his moral map. He supposed it was advantageous, if rooted in selfish intentions.

"The both of you can go to France, stay in our villa there or with Cousin Wersham. I already spoke to the others, it's simple to arrange, so long as I can trust you not to contact anyone even incidentally related to the Dark Lord. If you can't manage that..." he sucked in a breath, "...I won't have a choice but to let them turn you over to the Aurors."

"That isn't much of a choice then," Narcissa said softly, "We'll go."

The door swung open and then slammed just as quickly, Draco flying down the stairs away from the dim and dusty attic. Harry followed as best he could without tripping over his feet.

Pale hands flung open cabinet after cabinet in the kitchen, Draco searching every conceivable corner before flinging himself into a chair and burying his face in his arms. Cautiously, Harry sat in the chair beside him, placing a hand on his shoulder.

"If you don't have alcohol or calming draught or an Obliviate curse at the ready, I don't want to hear anything you have to say," he mumbled into the wooden table.

"They hide that stuff pretty well to keep Fred and George from getting into it," Harry said,"And anyway I'm the last person to ask."

Draco lifted his head.

"Never been drunk, Potter? No troubles to drown?"

"Would it have actually helped? Or would it have given me the same troubles plus a load of pain the next day?"

Draco narrowed his eyes at Harry, half angry and half puzzled.

"You are exactly as sanctimonious in person as everyone says. I imagined there was at least something under the surface."

"Oh please," Harry snorted, "What debauchery could _you_  have possibly gotten up to?  _But Potter, we couldn't possibly get into the castle without floo, it's against the rules._ "

His voice pitched up was an almost eerie imitation of Draco's posh affectation and he laughed despite himself. Draco shoved his shoulder, hard, which only made the laughter bubble up more. Hermione popped her head around the corner, a curious look on her face.

"What are you two doing?"

"Does Weasley know where any alcohol is, Granger?"

"We are  _underage_ ," she spat, face flushing from the scandal, "But if that means you're done with business upstairs I'm quite eager to get back to Hogwarts and be done with today."

Harry drug Draco up to a stand and then steered him from the room. The blond had started to jerk his arm out of Harry's grasp on their way to the hearth when Harry whispered harshly in his ear.

"There's a bottle of gutrot in Dean Thomas's trunk, and if you can stop being a prat for the next ten minutes I'm sure we can retrieve it for you."

"Got some corruption in you after all?"

"Just friends of all stripes."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Gutrot" is any low quality alcohol. Things like moonshine, strawberry wine, those $2 half liters of vodka, etc. I'm not sure if that's regional slang or not, but I realized that it sounded like a Weasley Wizard Wheeze so I wanted to clarify, haha.
> 
> Also, this chapter feels incredibly short, and I do apologize. I knew I would be changing so little from the cave scene and Battle of the Astronomy Tower that to write them in would basically be word for word copying. Really the only change is removing the disarming portion. Wand loyalty in the 7th book has always been a plot hole with all the casual disarming in the first 5 books, and I aim to fix that.


End file.
